Heart of an Assassin
by Song Of Eternity
Summary: Someone is killing people all over the world. There isn't much to go on, but L is determined to find this elusive assassin. But when the two finally meet, will they escape with their hearts? AU no notebook ShonenAi, Blood/Gore, Light's a REAL assassin!
1. Silent Night

**Hey Guys! Song here! I'm just putting up my first ever AU story! I'm doing this for my own writing challenge, the random plot generator challenge. I'll probably be doing a lot of AU over the next few months, because I'm going to do more than one of these. If you want to check the challenge out, it's at forum,fanfiction,net/topic/75103/25974122/1/**

**A/N: This is an edit and combination of the first two chapters. After coming back to this story, I couldn't believe how many mistakes there were, so I decided to repost. Thanks!**

**Anyway… this is the part where I disclaim… I disclaim.**

**Now on to the story!**

**Heart of an Assassin**

**Chapter One: Silent Night**

Cassingham Avenue at midnight was as silent as a tomb. The darkness was illuminated by a few weak streetlamps. A light breeze gently rustled the well-trimmed bushes on finely manicured lawns. This little slice of suburbia was one of the most upscale neighborhoods in town, occupied by upper middle class families who drove minivans to the supermarket and nice company cars to work. Fences were kept well-painted and sprinklers came on promptly at seven in the morning. A line of carefully trimmed hedges lined every yard. It was in the shadow of these well-maintained bushes that the slender figure crept.

Light was good at his job. He may look young, but he was smart. Very smart. You had to be, in this line of work. The auburn-haired teen moved silently in the shadow of an elaborate two-story brick Victorian townhouse. This wasn't the usual place for a job, but then again, what would be considered a normal place for this type of work? He cast a thoughtful eye over the exterior of the house. The front door was obviously out, and the ground floor windows not only had security wires attached, but a motion light above them would undoubtedly turn on if he went that route. Pretty high security for a suburb, but not too out of place. No, the ground level just wouldn't work. Light instead looked up.

There.

Directly above him, there was a thin ledge that ran around the entire perimeter of the house. Every window on the second floor was accessible from that ledge. Conveniently enough, the drainpipe of the gutter was directly next to him and led directly to the ledge. Light shook his head. _Americans_! They spend hundreds of dollars on a security system, and then put it on a house that might as well have been _designed_ for intruders.

Oh well, their loss. His gain.

Light reached up into his knapsack and pulled out a pair of heavy gloves and a knit cap. You had to be careful with fingerprints and hair these days. Forensics could vacuum a crime scene, and take what should be dusty trash and turn it into a conviction. You had to be careful with what tools you used, too. Gloves can be traced just like fingerprints these days. Each glove is made out of an individual material and is made more unique as the weathering process of normal use wears marks into the glove. Disposable latex gloves eliminated this problem, but unfortunately the thinness of those gloves sometimes let the fingerprint show through, making them useless.

To avoid being tracked by his gloves (or fingerprints), Light had fashioned a three layer polymer glove specifically for his personal use. The inside layer was a soft lining, because Light had delicate hands and wanted them to stay that way. The middle layer was an extremely durable polymer which was waterproof from both sides. This ensured no water got in, and no oil from his skin got through to make a fingerprint or glove print. The outer layer was thin, removable latex that had excellent gripping capabilities and would not leave a traceable residue. The entire glove was only a half a millimeter thick. It had taken him a few weeks of work to make it, but the gloves were perfect. He himself could detect no residue or mark from them, and even if some genius detective did get a trace, it would be useless because he changed the outer layer after each job. He had implemented a similar covering for his shoes. Thankfully, hats weren't nearly so complicated, as they didn't touch anything and only had to keep his hair on his head.

Light grinned as he grabbed onto the drainpipe and slowly pulled himself off the ground. What kind of intelligent house designer put a lip around the second floor in the first place? Obviously, the amateur designer of this house had paid more attention to aesthetics than practicality. Carefully but swiftly, Light shimmied up the drainpipe, pulling himself with his arms and pushing his feet quietly off the brick side of the house. In no time, he was delicately stepping over onto the lip of the second story. Inching his way around the house, Light made his way to the first dark window, where he used a small hand mirror to peek in. No sense in making it this far just to be caught by a toddler awake after their bedtime. The room was empty, and the motion light was only aimed at the ground floor. Light honestly wondered how these people had never been robbed before.

Now, the people living here weren't complete idiots. There was security on the upper story windows too, but this was much more easily dealt with. Looking carefully at the small box attached to the window frame, Light smiled. It was an open circuit system. Pathetic. There was a power source on one side of the window, with a wire traveling to a bracket in the middle of the window. On the other side was a transmitter, which would sound an alarm and send a signal to the security company if power got to it. There was also a cord that led from this to another center window bracket. As long as the window was fully closed, the circuit was uncompleted and no signal was sent. However, the moment the window was raised even an inch, a small metal piece was raised with it. The small metal piece would go up in between the two brackets and the circuit would be completed. An alarm would go off, a signal would be sent to the security company and it was all over for Light.

But Light refused to let that happen. Light was a smart guy who knew all about circuits (as many people do). Light knew that in this case, as long as the circuit remained unconnected, the alarm wouldn't go off. So Light did what any intelligent person would do if they really thought about it; he cut the wire. Then it was a simple matter of running a glass cutter over the window, popping a small hole out with his gloved finger, unlocking the window from the inside, and climbing in. Of course, he could have just cut out the entire window glass and just shimmied in, but where was the fun in that? It was all too easy.

Light slowly lowered himself onto the floor, making sure his feet didn't land on anything unsavory. He was in a spare bedroom. Creeping to the door, he placed his ear against the wood and listened carefully. There were loud snores coming from a room somewhere, but no one was moving otherwise. According to his stakeout, an older couple lived here, but that didn't mean a grandchild or nephew wasn't visiting. Light didn't want any surprises. Light quietly opened the door and slid into the hallway.

All was silent, and the door at the end of the hallway was open. Light sauntered on silent feet to the open door, and crouched before he was visible in the door frame. Using the small hand mirror, he peeked into the room. The old couple was asleep back to back, the grizzled, white-haired man snoring raucously, and the pale, blond woman with a pillow over her head. He could tell from her light breathing that she was asleep as well. Light put the mirror back into his bag, taking two small items out in its place.

Silent as a cat in stockings, Light crept to the side of the bed and knelt by the old man's face. He didn't stand up, nor did he look directly at the man. People, even stupid ones, could sense when you were standing over them or staring. Without looking at the old man, Light gently hovered the chloroform soaked rag over his grizzled face. Instantly, the man's snores stopped as he went from a natural sleep to forced unconsciousness.

Light froze and glanced over at the pale woman on the other side of the bed. He couldn't chloroform the woman as long as she had the pillow over her face. She might wake up and see him before he chloroformed her. He would have to make sure she stayed asleep. Therefore, this was a dangerous moment as some wives with snoring husbands often woke up if the snoring stopped. She still slept peacefully. Apparently she was not one of those wives.

Good.

Light put down the rag and prepared the other item he had removed from his bag. It was time to fulfill his mission. In one swift movement, Light slid open his carpet knife and gently sliced the fat man's neck. The unconscious man immediately began to spray bright red blood, as Light had put a decent sized hole in the carotid artery. Light was careful not to damage the windpipe, as the gurgling and wheezing would wake the wife up for sure.

Light slid silently under the bed and held his breath. If the old guy struggled or made noise, the woman would wake up. Since the man was completely unconscious, there shouldn't be a problem. However, Light was a professional for a reason; he didn't take chances.

The man was silent. This, of course, did not make it an easy death. Blood spurted from the man's neck in explosive amounts, spattering over the opposite wall and forever staining the immaculate carpet. A few whimpers and jagged breaths came from the man's throat, but he didn't struggle and the noises came gradually to an end. His wife did not wake up.

And that's what was important, after all.

Silent as death, Light rolled out from under the bed, crept out the door and exited the house the same way he got in.

He changed his clothes in a nearby alley, and made his way to the airport.

Light, professional assassin, was halfway to Tokyo before the screams began.

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Deep in the sprawling urbana of London, a gargantuan building sat hulking in a mass of billowing fog. An unexpected cold front had moved in, resulting in a layer of low-hanging stratus that reduced visibility to a few feet at best. On the fifth floor balcony, a wide-eyed man peered through the fog at the pedestrians below. Tourists stumbled down the cobblestoned streets, looking bewilderedly at maps. Veteran Londoners were more adept, walking straight into the fog and deftly dodging oncoming traffic.

Above the chaos of the streets, the raven haired man pondered recent events. A string of murders had been ongoing for five years. Over two hundred people dead across six continents and the police of various nations and Scotland Yard hadn't been able to find a shred of evidence. Finally, the UN had given in and called L.

Leaning nonchalantly on the railing of his England headquarters, the three greatest detectives of all time closed his eyes and analyzed all the information he had thus far. He didn't buy that no evidence had been found; but the files were clear. No hair, no fingerprints, no fibers... only a few inconclusive clues littered the pages of the file, taunting the detective to piece them together.

The killer didn't seem to have a modus operandi. Sometimes he stabbed, sometimes he strangled. Multiple times he had drowned his victims, and once they found a possible victim who was burned alive. There was only one thing that tied the cases together. The victims were all corrupt- in most cases wealthy criminals or unpopular politicians. A few members of Senate, some English royalty; the nephew of a member of Chinese parliament and the secondary heir to the Japanese Imperial Family... there was an Italian mob boss, a high-end burglar, the president of a Canadian cheese industry... all hated by the public.

And at each crime scene they found a single, insufficient clue. A footprint with no tread -_a small foot, either a small male or a woman_…, a glove print from a glove that seemingly disappears after the first use- _latex_?..., a single light bulb smashed over the head of a victim... L shook his head. None of it really added up to anything. It was all so mysterious that the media was beginning to give him enigmatic names. In America: Assassin. In England: Death. In France: Tueur. In Japan: Kira. It was rather frustrating, trying to catch this villain when everyone else in the world is so impressed with him.

He really only had two things to go on. There were more murders in Japan than any other country, and it looked like the first few were there. Also, these crimes were happening all over the world, within days of each other. The killer was using airplanes often. He has at least one passport. But that didn't narrow it down much.

Sighing, L reentered the building and turned toward the encrypted computer screen. After a moment's thought, he spoke to the anxious UN representative on the other end of the connection. "Mr. Smith, I will take the case. However, I will need one thing. Please gather a small team from the law enforcement agencies from each country. I will need cooperation from every country to solve this case. In particular, I wish to work mainly with law enforcement from Japan. Please make sure that the Japan group is made up of talented and loyal members, and that each member is thoroughly briefed."

When the representative looked confused, L sighed at the screen. "I have my reasons. Also, tell each team to compile a list of every person in their country with a passport, and then eliminate everyone on that list who is over five foot ten."

When the representative looked almost upset, L continued patiently in his computer modified voice, "Each team is going to need a database. We do not have enough information to pinpoint the criminal yet. So for now, we are working this case by process of elimination. We are starting with every person in the countries targeted so far, especially Japan since that is where the first and most numerous targets were located. Then we eliminate everyone without a passport. We know the killer has a passport, or else there would be no way for him to travel from country to country so quickly. Also, the footprints we found at the crime scene on Cassingham Avenue were a size five, if we measure by the American Men's scale*. No one over five feet ten inches tall would possibly wear a five shoe size, and even that is stretching it. Therefore we will eliminate them as well."

Mr. Smith looked impressed. L smiled a bit, glad the representative couldn't see it. "I am rather good at what I do Mr. Smith," he said, "This is a temporary strategy until we can procure some more information. Tell the UN to make the teams, and to brief the teams. I will speak with each team next Monday. I want the lists thoroughly compiled and checked by then."

Mr. Smith smiled in relief. "Thank you, L." he said formally, "I will relay your message to the UN."

L pushed a button, and call was disconnected.

* **A five in American Men would be around a seven in American Women. They aren't assuming the suspect is a man, they just want to all be using the same system of measurement. I don't really know how shoe size vs. height runs, nor do I know anything about international shoe sizes, so work with me here!**


	2. Fate or Coincidence?

Raito Yagami lay in the afternoon dimness of his apartment, staring at the ceiling. He had just returned from a full day at the University, and didn't yet have the energy or desire to do his homework. It would only take him a minute, but why do it now when he could wait a while? Sighing, the amber-haired boy flopped onto his side and reached for the remote on the side table. He switched the television on to the news and watched blankly as pictures of criminals proceeded across the screen.

_Filth._

He hated them, this trash of humankind. Murderers, thieves, rapists… he hated them all. They hurt others and created more evil in the world. They made life harder for everybody and left a lingering fear in their wake. They didn't deserve to live.

That's why…

That's why for years, he had hunted them. From the first time he killed a criminal, it had been an obsession. Two years ago, he had been taking a shortcut home from school when he had come across a young man assaulting a woman in an alley. It had been horrible. She was crying and screaming for help, and the man was just leering at her, pushing up her skirt. Raito had seen red. He had run at the man and knocked him over. The woman had run away, but the man had fought back. He had punched Raito so many times, his vision had begun to blur and he had thought he was going to pass out. Then his hands had found their way to the man's throat and he had squeezed and squeezed, until the man had stopped punching, stopped moving, stopped anything.

Raito had lain in that alley for what felt like hours, just feeling the dead weight of the man on top of him. He had killed someone. He took the man's life away. He was wracked with guilt, crying until he had no more tears. Then he began to think harder about it, and he realized something.

That man was a criminal.

He had tried to rape an innocent woman. He might have even killed her afterwards. It was entirely possible that this wasn't his first crime. If Raito hadn't come along, it might not have been his last.

Raito began to feel better.

He had gone home, explained his bruises away, comforted his weeping mother, and went to his room to think. Finally, he had come to a decision. He hadn't done anything wrong. If he hadn't attacked the man, then the woman would have been hurt. If he hadn't killed the man, Raito himself would have been hurt. He couldn't have done anything else. Death was the only way to deal with criminals like that.

He had forgiven himself with cold, hard logic.

The next time, he had been walking past a club when he saw an older man pull a scantily dressed girl into his limo. She was struggling, and Raito had barely had time to hear the man say an address to his driver before the door had been slammed shut. He had called the police, and taken a taxi to the address he had heard. It was a posh hotel, and the police had already been there. The girl was sitting on the steps, a blanket around her, sobbing. It was too late. She had been taken into the hotel and raped. The hotel staff had assumed she was a prostitute, and the man had threatened to kill her if she struggled. The man had already been arrested. There was nothing else Raito could do, so he went home. A few weeks later, Raito's father had told the family that the man was very rich, and had paid to keep the case out of court. He was free, and the girl was pregnant. Raito was furious.

Days later, he had cornered the man in the bathroom of an expensive restaurant, strangled him, and escaped through the window he had entered by.

He had made a mistake that time.

The owner of the restaurant, Umiko Kaneda, was a pretty wealthy guy himself. He had been smoking an expensive imported cigarette when he had seen Raito exiting the small window of the bathroom. After the police had realized they had no evidence to go on, Umiko had tracked him down himself. He had blackmailed Raito, saying that if he didn't kill one of his crooked competitors, he would tell the police his true identity. A few days later, two more criminals were dead, the competitor… and Umiko. Soon, Raito had become a known assassin and had gone by the pseudonym Light to his clients.

The rest of the world had very different names for him. In Japan, he was known primarily as Kira. Strangely enough, he had gained support from the general public. Because Light refused to kill anyone except criminals, Kira became known as a sort of crusader, protecting the public from evil. They saw him as Justice.

Raito thought of himself that way.

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L ground his teeth in irritation. He sat in the dim light of his workroom, staring at the laptop screen before him. On the screen were the internet poll ratings for Kira. Across the board was an overall approval of the assassin. The world saw him as a champion instead of a criminal. A hero instead of a murderer.

It was not acceptable.

He needed to eradicate this enemy, and fast. He needed his logic to be sure, so that he could bring Justice swiftly and neatly upon Kira's head. Scowling, he opened the files on his computer relating to Kira's past victims. He had received these files a few hours ago from Japan's police force. Maybe there would be a new connection between the victims. His eye skimmed over the page, not seeing anything new. Most of the victims were probably paid hits. All of them had significant numbers of enemies, any of whom could have contracted a hit. All of the victims had different backgrounds. Some were alone at the time of death; some were under police protection… L froze.

Some of them were under police protection.

He pushed a button on his cell phone, and held it awkwardly to his ear.

"Watari?"

"Yes sir?"

"I have new instructions for the UN, to be carried out tomorrow evening. Also, bring the car around. We are going to Japan."

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Raito stepped into his apartment after yet another boring day at University. "I'm home," he called into the emptiness. As usual, there was no answer. To fill up the empty silence, he flipped on the television to the news. Then he went to the kitchen and made himself a bowl of soup. Sipping from his spoon, he read the newspaper as he listened noncommittally to the newscast.

_We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you this special report._

Raito glanced up with interest at the nervous looking reporter on the screen.

_We apologize for interrupting our normal programming. A live international broadcast from ICPO, Interpol, will now begin._

The screen switched over to a serious-looking, middle-aged man in a sharp suit. He looked into the camera with a sharp intensity.

_I am the one person who controls the entire planet's police force, Lind L. Tailor; alias, L. To the murderer who is targeting criminals- this is unforgivable; the worst crime in history._

Raito's eyes narrowed. The man continued.

_Consequently, I will catch the ringleader of these crimes, referred to vulgarly as "Kira." Kira, I can imagine what you must be thinking, to do something like this. But, what you are doing is evil._

Raito flinched. "You think I'm…evil…" he mumbled. Then he shot to his feet. "No! I am justice! The man who saves the weak who cower in FEAR of evil! I will create a new world that is everyone's ideal! If you oppose that, then YOU are the one who is evil!"

Lind L. Tailor smiled.

_I imagine you are quite angry with me at this point, Kira. However, there is nothing you can do about it. I broadcast this so that you would know that I am on the case. So that you would know how close you are to capture. At this moment, I am under the close protection of the International Police- you cannot reach me. I am safe, and you are not. I look forward to meeting you._

The screen went black.

Raito, his entire body trembling with fury, narrowed his eyes.

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"Are you sure about this, L?"

L glanced over his shoulder at Watari. "Of course I am, Watari. As soon as Kira heard our little broadcast, he will have accessed the Interpol's files. If he has sufficient access to the files, as I suspect he does, then my double will be dead before the night is out."

"Why are we here, if you are so certain? Why put yourself in danger?"

"We are perfectly safe Watari. Kira does not know what I look like, and we are not even in the same building as his target. From this window, we should be able to see anything that occurs in the room we placed the target in."

"Which also puts us in the perfect place for Kira to snipe from, if he wanted to shoot the target."

L smiled. "That, my friend, is an exclusive hotel. It is meant for the richest, most hated people in the world. The windows are made of bulletproof glass. Any assassin worth his salt wouldn't even bother."

"Oh. So we should be able to catch him when he tries to enter the room, then?"

L looked thoughtfully at the room across the street. "No, I should be very surprised if we managed to capture Kira so easily. However, I do think we will be able to gather more valuable evidence."

Watari nodded.

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Light sat quietly in the dumbwaiter, staring through the small crack down the hallway. Dumbwaiters were yet another security risk that most people do not take into account. A few yards down the hall, two guards wait alertly by Lind L. Tailor's door. Any moment now, he would have a free entrance into the hotel room. He picked up the cell phone he bought with the help of a "friend" in the assassin business; it was completely untraceable and no one knew it belonged to him. He quickly called the front desk of the hotel.

"Front desk, how my I help you?"

"This is an emergency!" Light said in a high-pitched whisper. The whisper made him sound more urgent, and would also mask his voice. He might even pass for a girl. "I just passed a guy checking his suitcase… it had a gun in it!"

"Where did you see this man?"

"On the third floor corridor, outside the south elevators!"

"Thank you, where are you calling from? Are you in a safe location?"

"Yes, but…" Light gave a theatrical gasp and ended the connection.

A few minutes later, the guards in front of him got a call on their radios, and ran off towards the elevators. A few more followed from inside the room.

Light smiled and crawled silently out of the dumbwaiter. He slid up to the slightly open door, palmed his weapons, and attacked.

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L knew it had begun when he saw the police force run out of the room. He grimaced when he saw that they had left only two guards behind to guard Tailor.

He scowled when the smoke bomb went off.

It blocked his view completely, and it probably completely disoriented the people inside. Peering through the binoculars he had brought, L could only see vague shapes though the mist. Finally, one of the operatives had the sense to open the window. Slowly, the smoke cleared, and it was clear that Kira had succeeded yet again. The two security operatives were out cold, and Lind L. Tailor lay on the floor, blood pooling around him from a stab wound to the chest.

L seized his handheld radio and began to talk rapidly into it. The security that previously scattered ran back into the hotel room. They took a look around and then began to fan out, looking for the criminal. Others went to block the exits.

Light had already escaped down the dumbwaiter shaft and out the laundry room exit.

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Light got to the next building, a large grocery store, as quickly as he could, oversized coat both keeping him warm and hiding the large bloodstains on his shirt and hands. He ducked into the store's bathroom, switching his bloodstained clothing for clean clothing and washing the blood from his hands. The bloody clothes he tucked into his knapsack. Upon leaving the store, he turned down a small alley and placed the knapsack into the trash bag he brought along for this purpose. He dumped the knapsack in the dumpster, a good half-block from the hotel. He turned out of the alleyway grinning.

He had gotten away with it.

It was problematic, planning this. He had to find out where Tailor was staying, and then how to distract the guards. They would probably try to track his phone call, but he had disguised his voice and cut the conversation too short for tracking. It would be a long time before they pinpointed the dumbwaiter as his point of entry, and even then, he had left no evidence that could be used to track him. He had even made sure that the security cameras in the hallway were conveniently "relocated" so as not to record his approach to the room. The bloody clothes would be gone quickly, as trash pickup in this neighborhood was scheduled for… Light looked down at his watch. Now.

Staring at the watch screen, Light grinned in triumph. This was a difficult job, but he had pulled it off. It was a perfect. Everything had gone according to pl…

At that moment, Light ran into somebody going the opposite direction and fell. He hit his head on the pavement, and blacked out.

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L looked darkly at the young man on the ground before him. How much bad luck could he have in one day? Lind L. Tailor had been killed, and Kira had escaped. Worse, there was little to no evidence as to how the assassin had entered, or how he exited. All they had was a wound, a smoke bomb container, and an untraceable phone call with questionable voice patterns.

Now this.

Two more steps, and he would have been in his car. Instead, he had run right into this… boy. The boy was unconscious. He didn't look as though he needed medical help, but he couldn't leave him here. L could call an ambulance or the police to pick him up, but they would all be needed at the crime scene at the hotel… L sighed.

"Watari…"

"Yes L."

Between the two of them, they managed to get the boy up and maneuver him into the car.

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Raito woke up with two thoughts: he had a pounding headache and this was not his room.

He sat up and looked around. Not a hospital either; in fact, it looked like some sort of hotel room. An unused one- there weren't even any suitcases or clothing in the closets. The door to the hallway was open, clearly an invitation to leave. However, there was another door, one that probably led to the bathroom or to a living room area if this was a suite. Raito pulled himself out of the bed. He crossed to the other door, and opened it. If there was one thing that Raito had in abundance, it was curiosity.

The door led to an open living room area, complete with kitchenette and balcony. Raito let his eyes skim over the room before freezing on the balcony. There was someone over there. The sliding glass door was slightly open, and he could see the outline of a figure through the softly fluttering curtains.

He sidled up to the door. He could hear murmuring from outside.

"There has to be a pattern…"

"Of course there's a pattern," Light said, opening the sliding door. "There's always a pattern. It's a statistical law."

L jumped a little and looked up. "I see you are awake."

"Yeah. Why am I here? I remember running into someone and I woke up here."

"You were unconscious. I brought you here to sleep it off."

"By yourself?"

"You are free to leave whenever you like."

Raito grinned and sat down beside the other man. "I'm Raito Yagami."

"… Ryuzaki."

"Cool name."

"Indeed. Are you a student at the local university?"

"How did you guess?"

"Well, you are too young to be a mathematician, but it isn't every day a high school student quotes advanced statistical theory at you."

"True. But that's extremely advanced for a university student as well."

"Indeed it is."

Raito just looked at him for a moment. The man was slender, and if he stood up, Light guessed he would be tall. He was pale, and his hair was jet black. He would look almost Japanese if it weren't for the distinctly European bone structure and huge black eyes.

Those eyes.

Raito had never seen eyes so black. And worse, they had shadows all around them, as though the man hadn't slept in years.

"I'm sorry if I took your bed. You look tired."

"It's fine. You've only been there a few hours. My eyes always look like this."

"Oh…"

"I'm not insulted."

"Good. Thanks."

"How long are you going to sit here?"

"Oh, I can leave!" Raito went to stand.

"Where did you learn about that Law?"

Raito smiled and sat back down. They talked about mathematics and statistics for the rest of the day.


	3. The Difference Between Smart and Wise

Hey everybody! Song here! I still exist, though I'm not on here often! Its summer again, and that means I have time but no motivation! As opposed to the school year, when I have motivation, but no time! Oh well, I'm going to keep this story up, though I feel like I'm going to have to work to keep it from getting ridiculously complicated. Complex plot twists are fine and dandy for the creators of Death Note (I'm not one built in disclaimer) but if I try to get that fancy, I'll probably just screw something up. This chapter is a little short, but I think you'll like it. No amazing plot twists, but lots of L. And really, isn't that what you all come here for? No? Whoops. Oh well, this is what you got. Deal with it! Don't forget to review!

L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L

L stared curiously at the door of his hotel suite. Raito Yagami had passed through that door not five minutes ago, claiming he had homework to finish. L doubted that. Raito seemed the type of person to leave homework until the last minute, then dash off perfectly correct answers in minutes. He seemed that sort of person. Of course, Raito also seemed to be the sort of person who was anything but what he seemed.

There was something strange about that boy, and it wasn't intelligence. Of course, the boy was intelligent; in the last few hours, L and Raito had discussed the finer points of statistical law and mathematics. Not only were many of the topics much too complicated for a college-level student, many of them were considered esoteric even by specialists of the field. This boy was by no means normal.

And neither was L.

L suddenly wanted to smack himself. How could he be so careless? He had attended one of his own stake-outs, had that stake-out fail, wandered around outside of the site of said failed stake-out, run into a boy and knocked him unconscious, brought said boy to his temporary residence, remained in the residence until Raito woke up, and then proceeded not only to let the boy see him, but to make conversation! Not just conversation, but conversation so intelligent that only a few of the more learned mathematicians in the world could follow it!

He might as well have just hung a sign around his neck that said "Hi, I'm L."

What on earth possessed him to act so irrationally? Of course, he had attended the stakeout out of sheer curiosity. He wanted to see how Kira would handle the threat, and exactly how the assassin worked. As for bringing the boy here, well, he couldn't exactly leave the boy unconscious on the sidewalk. But he didn't have to talk to Raito, and he certainly didn't have to reveal so much of his intellect. What on earth…

"Ryuzaki?"

L glanced over his shoulder at the figure behind him, "Yes, Watari?"

"What's the matter, if I may inquire? Has no more information been forthcoming on the hotel affair?"

"No, Watari. I believe we may have exhausted all the information that particular hotel has for us. But that is not the issue… no, I am much more worried about that boy we brought here today."

"That teenager?"

"He said he was a college student."

"He said he was? Do you doubt him?"

"Oh no, Watari. I do not doubt he is a college student. I simply doubt he is merely a college student. The boy is a genius, Watari. I have not had such an equal conversation since… Watari, I have never had such an equal conversation." L stared broodingly at the door.

"And that's a bad thing?" Watari asked.

"Hm? Oh… I'm not sure, to tell the truth. On one hand, the conversation was quite entertaining. On the other, I am very concerned that I should let myself talk as freely as that, and with a perfect stranger. No normal person would speak like that, Watari. He's bound to know how… abnormal I am."

"And you're frightened of what a perfect stranger thinks of you?"

"Of course not!" L said hastily, "I'm simply… concerned about my cover. My true identity."

Watari suddenly smiled. "You just wonder why you let yourself talk so easily with a perfect stranger. That's all?"

"What do you mean, that's all? I can count on one hand the number of times I've had conversations that revealing and four of them were with you."

"And none of those four were half as intelligent or entertaining."

"No, of course not… I mean…"

"I'm not offended, Ryuzaki. How could they be?" Watari came around the chair and knelt painstakingly before the detective. "I am an old man, and I am not a particularly smart one, compared with you. I am not exactly an ideal companion for a young man, especially not one such as you. It is not surprising that you were bored and would seek out such company."

"But…"

"You have never spoken with someone at such length and with such vigor as you did today, is that correct?"

"Yes…"

"And you enjoyed yourself?"

"Yes."

"Then I fail to see the problem."

"The problem, Watari, is that I can't just go around having intelligent conversations with people."

"Why not? Other people do it all the time."

"Other people don't know advanced mathematical theory. Other people aren't the three greatest detectives in the world. Other people aren't going to have to move our headquarters again, and watch their back for the duration of their stay in Japan so that our true identities don't become known to the general public. I am not like other people, Watari. I cannot just have conversations like this whenever I please."

"Ryuzaki, it is entirely likely that it was good for you to have this conversation. I can only provide so much entertainment for a young man such as you. Watching you day after day, solving case after case, there is little that really catches your attention any more. Until the Kira case, I would have said that you were merely battling boredom. It isn't healthy by any means to be that bored, and it certainly isn't healthy to be alone so much of the time. People need other people, Ryuzaki. It is a phenomenon among humans you may have noticed."

"Of course," L said impatiently. "People tend to seek out other people with similar interests, characteristics, and beliefs…"

"And where are yours, Ryuzaki?"

L blinked at Watari. "What on earth do you mean?"

"Where are your people, Ryuzaki? You have no acquaintances, you have no friends. You have no family or neighbors. You no longer even have a country, a citizenship, an ethnicity. Where are your people with similar interests, characteristics, and beliefs?"

L gave a very small smile. "You are all of those things to me now, Watari."

"We are hardly alike, Ryuzaki."

L scowled. "You are more alike to me than anyone else can claim. Do you know why my people aren't around, Watari? Why I don't have friends, family, or acquaintances with similar interests, characteristics, and beliefs?"

"Because the great detective L cannot reveal himself to anyone long enough to get to know them?"

"No, Watari," L smiled sadly. "Those people aren't around, because they don't exist."

Watari looked sadly at L for a moment, and then turned to leave the room. L looked away from the older man, sadly dropping his gaze to his knees. If the room hadn't been so quiet, he would never have heard Watari's final word on the subject:

"One does."


	4. Symbols of Sin

Raito fumbled with his keys for a moment before stepping into his apartment. Whistling, he made his way into the kitchen for a snack. He paused as he opened the refrigerator. He was in an oddly good mood.

He smiled.

Of course he was. He had just had one of the best conversations of his life. It wasn't every day that Raito met his intellectual equal. Pulling out a soda and grabbing a bag of chips, he wandered into the living room and flopped gracefully onto the couch. He dragged his messenger bag over and reached inside for the letters that he had received from one of his contacts. He scanned the top letter, before tossing it nonchalantly towards the wastepaper basket. He never understood what his contacts didn't understand about the word evil. Light killed evil people.

People who deserved it.

After sorting through the political garbage and petty disagreements, Raito had two legitimate hits. Sighing, he stood and stretched. He grabbed the discarded letters, shoved them through the shredder in one bored motion, and headed up to his bedroom. Today had been a long and productive day. He needed a few more hours of sleep.

Then, he would get back to work.

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Light crouched moodily on the cold stone floor. In his opinion, stakeouts were the worst kind of hits. He had crept into this house through a hidden storm window hours ago. The window was obscured by some abundant shrubbery, so Light wasn't too afraid about the tiny hole in it being noticed. What he did mind was being stuck in this chilly basement, catching his death because this pathetic businessman had decided to work late.

Marcus Sabo was a dirty businessman in the northern United States. In the past few years, he had negotiated many underhanded deals with local gangs, been accused of insurance fraud, as well as been involved in a rape scandal which had been quickly hushed up. After deep investigation, Light has virtually no doubt that Sabo was guilty.

Finally, Light heard the sound of a car pulling up. Glancing quickly out of the storm window with his mirror, he confirmed that it was Sabo. He was alone. Light waited until he heard the door slam, and a few minutes later, heard water running.

Perfect.

Humans are creatures of habit. Some wake up the same time every day, some brushed their hair a certain number of times. Some always put the left shoe on first. It just so happened that every evening, when Marcus Sabo got home from work, he took a luxurious bubble bath. For the last week, Sabo hadn't missed a single bath.

Habits were dangerous. Habits meant that you were predictable, and when you were predictable, people could make plans around you. Light had made one himself.

Light crept up the stairs of the basement, listening at the door briefly before opening it softly. Thankfully, it hadn't been locked. Obviously, Sabo had assumed that the basement was not an entryway. He had apparently forgotten the storm window existed. Fool.

Stepping into the kitchen, Light listened carefully. Sure enough, there were sounds of heavy footsteps and gentle music overhead. Sabo was getting ready to get in the bath. Light crossed quickly to the other side of the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and carefully selected two apples. Sabo loved apples.

Rounding the island countertop, Light slid down the hallway and to the bottom of a flight of creaky stairs. By now, the sound of Beethoven's Fifth could be heard loud and clear from above. Light smiled. How fitting.

The loud music allowed Light to make it up the creaky staircase without Sabo being alerted to his presence. He stealthily crept down the hall and lowered his eye to the crack of the bathroom door. Sabo lounged in the tub, bubbles mercifully covering everything below his ponderous gut, eyes closed.

This would take grace.

Light had successfully greased the hinges of this particular door yesterday, so he would be able to easily open it without disturbing Sabo. Here was the hard part. He had to get close enough to Sabo without his prey jumping up and out of the tub. He took a large, silent breath. Making sure Sabo's eyes were still closed, he silently opened the door and took fast, careful steps toward the tub. He was only a few feet from Sabo before the man's eyes flashed open. They swung to meet Light's, widening.

Light knocked the radio into the tub.

It might not have killed him, except for the fact that Light had also tampered a bit with the radio the day before. A little break in the wire insulation allowed the wire to touch both the water, and Sabo's legs. Instantly, Sabo began to jerk. A few moments later, he was dead. Light carefully unplugged the radio from the wall socket. Not only did he not want the police to get electrocuted, but he didn't want them to mistake this for a suicide or an accident. The whole world needed to know that criminals got what they deserved. Plus, he had another little teaser for the detectives. He walked over to the body, checking the pulse. Dead as a doornail. Smiling, Light gently pushed the apple from the kitchen into Sabo's mouth, a suckling pig with its own symbol of sin.

Turning away from the corpse, Light let himself out of the house the way he came in. A few minutes later, he was strolling towards home, chewing on a large bite from his own apple.


End file.
